If I could talk to you, what words would I choose?
I would say, "I wish I could have known you."
I would say, "I wish you would have stayed."
But most of all, I would say, "I forgive you!"
I know we all could say how you should have done better.
And wear our anger and resentment like a fetter.
But that's why I would
say this to you if I could.
I remember during my early teenage years feeling a sort of emptiness because of the fact that my biological father was not in my life and that he flat out didn't want to be. It was a raw issue for me and something that I thought about a lot as a teenager. Why did he stop seeing me and my brother? Why did he not want to know me or be my dad? Did divorcing my mom really mean he had to divorce me and Ethan as well? These are questions that were and still are beyond my ability to comprehend, although they are less emotional or difficult for me to think about at this point in my life. I've been able to let go as I've grown up. Plus I have a great relationship with my step-dad, Dave, for which I am extremely grateful, so I have no need for Tom to fill any kind of dad-sized hole in me. He is a part of me (biologically) and a piece of my past and every now and then I think back and wonder what it would be like to have him part of my present, but it's a fleeting thought that doesn't linger for very long.
I have two very vivid memories of times being with Tom when I was maybe four or five years old. They are incredibly vague memories of random situations. One is a memory of being in the backseat of his blue station wagon with my brother. I think he picked us up from school or something. Ethan had a plastic bag of Honeycomb cereal he was eating and I wanted some. Ethan refused to give me any. I complained about Ethan's inability to share his cereal with me to my dad and he told Ethan to give some to me. I know, deep right?! The other memory is a time when I was at Tom's house for a visit. It was either on my 5th birthday or sometime near my 5th birthday. I remember being in a bedroom sitting on a bed. Tom told me to wait there for a second, telling me not to get up from the bed because it was dangerous. He left the room and I can remember watching him struggle to maneuver his way around all of the clutter that was lying everywhere as he tried to get out of the room. Tom was and still is an antique dealer and he always had antiques (a.k.a. JUNK) strewn about his house and his car. He was gone for just a minute and when he came back he had a beautiful black jewelry box which he gave to me as a birthday gift. Whenever I saw or used that jewelry box as I was growing up I thought about Tom. The sad thing is I have no idea what happened to it. I recall having it throughout high school, but after that I seem to have misplaced it. But I can still see it vividly in my mind's eye.
But other than those 2 small memories, I have no knowledge of who Tom is, what he is like, or what it was like to have him as a dad. When I embarked on my teenage years I started to think more about Tom and his absence began to have more of an impact on me. Once when I was 12 years old my mom took me to go see him at his antique auction house. That visit was less than climactic and I left feeling even more unfulfilled then when I hadn't seen him in seven years. Then when I was 17 I wrote him a letter basically telling him how life was for me not having him around but also telling him that I forgave him. The letter was my way of trying to let go of the sadness caused by his absence and the start of accepting that I was in fact OK without having him in my life. I hand delivered that letter to him, also at the antique auction house because that is the only place I knew where to find him. He read the letter while I stood there watching him, and then said a few words of which I honestly don't recall whatsoever, and then I left. And to be honest, I also don't really remember what I wrote in the letter. I wish I had saved a copy of it.
So the last time I interacted in any way shape or form with Tom, I was 17-years-old and it was in the parking lot of an auction house where he worked. But then, one day in 2011, I was driving down the highway with three-year-old Alice asleep in the back seat and all of a sudden I had a vision of sorts. In my daydream-like vision I randomly ran into my dad at some undefined location. Alice was with me so I was able to introduce him to his granddaughter. It was a moment where I got to show him the woman that I had become while also letting him know that he had a grandchild in this world. It was a very real vision and afterwards I thought about how awesome it would be if it came true.
And not two weeks later that is exactly what happened. I was at the Traders Market flea market which is held three times a year and Elko New Market. I walked into one of the buildings where antique dealers have table stalls set up selling their stuff. I see the back of this very short gray-haired man about 25 yards away from me walking down the aisle. Despite only seeing his back, I knew instantly it was my dad, Tom Goff. I had not seen him in 13 years, and I was only seeing the back of him while he was walking away, but I knew it was him. He had the exact same gait as my brother Ethan has, as well as his same hairline, albeit gray. The man was a shorter, gray-haired, more oddly-dressed version of Ethan walking in that building.
Being the bold person I am, unafraid of confrontation and unconcerned with making people feel awkward, I walked right up to him as he sat on a rickety old lawn chair. After all, this had already happened in my head not more than 2 weeks prior so I was prepared for this very moment! Standing next to him as he sat in his chair, I look down at him and I say, "Are you Tom Goff?" He looks up at me obviously a little confused as well as a little concerned and says, "Do I know you?" (Yes, I know it's sad that a father would not be able to recognize his own daughter. But I was 30-years-old and he hadn't seen me since I was 17 and as we all know I have gray hair now too which I most certainly did not have as a 17-year-old.) I reply back quite matter of factly, "I'm your daughter." His face drops. His eyes widen. He slowly stands. Three-year-old Alice sits in the stroller next to me looking right at him. The vision has come to fruition.
Our conversation was brief and not one I would categorize as emotional or any sort of happy reunion. Tom was more shocked than anything and obviously unprepared for our meeting, unlike me who was mentally prepared by the vision 2 weeks prior for running into him. He tried to say a few words about his side of things, but I kind of cut him off and told him that it was all OK; that I was happy and have had a great life and he didn't need to worry about how I was feeling. In all honesty, I was actually very happy to see him and not upset at him at all. I didn't want or need answers, nor an apology from him. I didn't want or need his side of the story either. All I wanted from the moment I had the vision of running into him while driving in my car was just to give him the opportunity to see me, to see that I was doing well, to know that I was happy, and to meet his granddaughter. I was not under any illusion that our encounter would result in him all of a sudden wanting to reconnect with me or even get to know his granddaughter. I knew better than that. But I thought that maybe there was a chance that he had moments of wonder about me. Did he ever think about me and Ethan? Did he ever wish he had made a different choice and been the dad he should have been (or at least tried to)? Did he ever wonder what it would be like to be a grandpa? Did he ever wonder how we were doing and hope for an opportunity to see us if only to be able to know that we are doing well and are happy? The way I look at the encounter and the reason for it, as well as the pre-encounter vision I had about it, is that it was solely for the purpose of answering one or all of those questions should he have ever had any of them. And I was glad to be able to give him that moment if there was a chance that it would bring him even a small amount of relief. After all, I simply can't imagine that a father would never think about his kids and wonder how or where they are, even if they do not have a desire to be involved in their lives.
Since that encounter 3 years ago I have returned to the flea market two more times, and each time I am there I walk through the building where he had his stall of antiques in 2011. He is there every time. I always stop by and say hi and ask him how he is doing. And I did that yet again this past Memorial Day weekend. This time Alice was with me as well as my 1-year-old daughter, Lindsey. So, whether he liked it or not, he got to see me and Alice again (for the 3rd time now) and also got to meet another one of his granddaughters. And while he wasn't looking I even snapped a picture of him. Here he is in all his goofy-looking glory! My flesh and blood:
Tom is an odd man and man of very few words. He does not want to be in my life or in the lives of my girls. And I will never know if he likes my visits at the flea market or if looks forward to the possibility that I might show up, or if he dreads the idea of it and wishes I would just leave him alone, his heart sinking every time I pop up at his stall. But nonetheless, every time I visit that flea market I will look for him and I will say hi to him if he is there. It is a small moment I look forward to each year even though it is always brief and slightly anti-climactic, and even if it never results in any sort of restored relationship. Maybe, one day, I will get up the gumption to say the words to him that are in that song. But until then, I'm grateful for the vision God gave me and for the gift of bringing it to pass 3 years ago.
But at the same time, whenever I visit Tom at the flea market, and sometimes when I watch Dane play with or care for our children, I am baffled by the idea that a dad could just walk away from his kids and truly never want to see them...ever. Sometimes I feel a moment of sadness and grieve for the loss of a relationship with my biological father. Perhaps if he had been in my life it would have been a bad relationship and would have caused more harm than good. Perhaps I was spared by not having him in my life. And there will always be a part of me that wonders, "What if?" and "Why?" But when I have those moments of sadness, the lines of What I Would Say always seem to pop into my head as if placed there by God Himself. Particularly the line about wearing anger like a fetter. That line hits me every time because of what the word fetter means, especially in the context of this line of the song:
fet·ter
ˈfetər/
noun
- 1.a chain or manacle used to restrain a prisoner, typically placed around the ankles."he lay bound with fetters of iron"
synonyms: shackles, manacles, handcuffs, irons, leg irons, chains, restraints;More
I refuse to let anger shackle or restrain me. Forgiveness is far better to live in than the chains of anger. That is why I cling to the line But most of all, I would say, "I FORGIVE YOU!" Because, by the grace of God, I truly do forgive him.
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